


How We Danced

by onekisstotakewithme



Series: Swamp(y) Snogs [8]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: (probably set around No Sweat), Bisexual Hawkeye Pierce, Charles is annoyed (but what else is new), Dancing in the Rain, First Kiss, M/M, Mother Hen Mulcahy, Season/Series 09, Summer, Swamp(y) Kisses, hunnihawk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/pseuds/onekisstotakewithme
Summary: Hawk watches the water soak into Beej’s clothes and run down his face, and grins, and then Beej turns to him. “It’s beautiful,” he tells Hawk, and Hawk wants to kiss him more than anything.“It is,” Hawk agrees, his voice cracking.You are.





	How We Danced

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flootzavut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/gifts).



> ♥♥♥ because YOU are the greatest xx

Hawkeye hates a lot of things in this war, and one of those things is summers in Korea.

Back home, summer means fireworks and corn on the cob and bonfires and fishing and talking long into the night, and lazy days with shoes full of sand. In Korea, summer means artillery shells and the same mess tent slop that’s been sitting in the heat all day, and surgery in full surgical garb, and sweating through everything, and shoes full of blood, and worst of all, the oppressive blanket of heat that settles over everything.

But what Hawkeye really hates the most about summer in Korea is that every time summer rolls around with its heat and flies and dust, it’s been another year in Korea. This war started in summer and just like so many other things, summer is tainted by blood and casualties… and when Hawkeye wakes up in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat, he just wants to be home.

It’s a week in the height of summer, and with temperatures soaring into the nineties and humidity settling in camp like a warm, damp blanket, every breath is like inhaling hell. Thankfully there have been no casualties, so while they’ve been bored, they at least haven’t had to operate in this heat.

“I wish we had that bathtub,” Beej says absentmindedly from where he’s lying on his cot. “All that cool, clean, refreshing water…”

“Stop it Beej, I’m getting excited.”

Beej snorts. “I’m serious, Hawk… I want that bathtub.”

“There isn’t a drop of cold water for miles,” Hawk replies, opening an eye lazily, and gazing in Beej’s direction. “And if you take a warm bath in this, we’ll have to send you home in a specimen bottle, and I’m not sure they make them in your size.”

This brings a smile to BJ’s face as he stands, looking down at his shirt, which much like Hawk’s, is damp with sweat. He shoves the hair plastered to his forehead out of the way. He sighs, tugging the shirt over his head, his voice muffled. “This is the third shirt I’ve sweat through this morning… I’m running out of shirts faster than I’m running out of sweat.”

“The army ordered a surplus,” Hawk replies, watching with interest as Beej tosses the sweaty shirt onto his cot. “And here’s an obvious solution: don’t wear a shirt.”

“I notice that’s not what you’re doing,” Beej retorts, digging in his footlocker.

“I have more shirts than you,” he tells him, wishing for something to ease the dryness in his throat. He eyes the ominous looking clouds in the distance, and not for the first time, he prays for rain. Korea is damp in the summer, as a general rule, but this summer has been dryer than the latest round of martinis from the still. He grins as Beej sniffs at another shirt. “Don’t be modest on my account, Beej. We _have_ showered together.”

“That’s different,” Beej tells him, before pulling the clean(er) shirt over his head. When his head emerges, he’s blushing, and Hawk’s mouth is dryer than before. _How far does that blush reach?_ he wonders.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Hawkeye tells him, grinning, and Beej throws a pillow at him. “You have a beautiful body, Beej.”

“Oh, and you spend so much time looking at it, I suppose,” Beej replies flippantly.

Hawk swallows hard. _Fuck._ “We do live together.”

“And what’s your plan, hot shot?” Beej retorts.

“I’ll sweat through the rest of my shirts first. I’d wear nothing, but the last time I tried that, I got too many wolf whistles. And a proposal.” _I’m almost sorry you missed it._ Nudity is nothing in this man’s army, and privacy is the one thing everyone forgets to pack, and Hawkeye is dangerous when he’s bored, has walked into the mess tent completely bare, but that was before Beej arrived.

Beej shakes his head at Hawk affectionately. “Anyway-,”

“Hold it!” It takes superhuman effort, but Hawk leaps up off his cot, regretting it as the sweat soaks through the back of his shirt. “Did you hear that?”

Beej stops, and there’s silence for a second, and the only sound is an engine somewhere. He grins. “That’s called a _jeep_ , Hawk.”

“No, no. Wait a minute.” He holds up a hand, and then grins at Beej as they hear the most beautiful sound in weeks: the sound of rumbling thunder in the distance, and their eyes meet, and they seem to be of the same mind. They rush outside, the door slamming behind them, as the first blessed drops start to fall.

Hawk stands in the middle of the compound, arms outstretched, and he grins at Beej, as the cool rain turns from a drizzle into a full-on downpour. He’s laughing and glorious and breathing the fresh damp air, and the entire compound will be mud in minutes, but he’s too relieved to care.

Beej is soaking wet and laughing too, and fresh and alive, and he’s only a few steps away, but Hawkeye watches him turn his head to the sky, and close his eyes, and in that second, he looks _peaceful_. Hawkeye’s breath catches in his throat as he watches him stand there, hands out, catching the rain in shaking hands, and a smile spreads across Beej’s face.

Hawk watches the water soak into Beej’s clothes and run down his face, and grins, and then Beej turns to him. “It’s beautiful,” he tells Hawk, and Hawk wants to kiss him more than anything.

“It is,” Hawk agrees, his voice cracking. _You are._  

The moment is lost when Beej, giggling, leaps right into a giant puddle next to Hawkeye, splashing him with mud. Hawk grins at him and then tackles him to the muddy ground, where they sit there laughing together, the sky open above them, two tangled-up little boys far from home. Their clothes are plastered to their bodies, yet they’re too busy revelling in the pure pleasure of the rain (it’s almost better than sex), and Beej reaches over, still laughing, and brushes Hawk’s hair off his forehead, and gives him a look of pure _love_ , and it’s all likely due to euphoria brought on by the falling rain, but Hawk’s pulse still quickens and he feels like he can’t catch his breath. _I love you,_ he thinks.

He lets go of Beej first, and stands, and then offers his mud-covered best friend a hand. It’s like the day they met, but Hawkeye could never have comprehended then how much he loves Beej now. He has a heart full to bursting with Beej, the one good thing to come out of this place. Beej takes his hand, and then they’re standing across from each other, and Hawkeye is eyeing him because _fuck,_ he feels like a drowned rat, but Beej, damp and muddy as he is, _is_ beautiful. And the words spill out before he can stop them. “Dance with me, Beej.”

Beej grins, and his eyes sparkle, and his whole face lights up, and making him smile shouldn’t exhilarate Hawk the way it does, but it _does,_ it _does,_ it _does._ And all the silly love poems in the world can’t really describe this feeling. A rainy day in Korea shouldn’t be this beautiful. But Beej is sunshine, and if anyone can make this crummy world beautiful, it’s him, and Hawkeye knows this, and it’s probably why he fell in love with him in the first place, circumstances be damned. “I’d love to, Hawk.”

_I love you,_ Hawkeye thinks again, as Beej steps forward, placing a hand on Hawk’s waist, the warmth of him seeping through Hawk’s damp shirt, and Hawkeye can’t breathe again as Beej takes his hand, and gives him a look of adoration (that can’t really mean what Hawkeye wishes it meant), and Hawk’s hand is on Beej’s shoulder, and he’s so _warm_ and vibrant under Hawkeye’s hands, and how did Hawkeye end up with someone who radiates sunshine the way Beej does?

 They start waltzing through the rain, and as Hawkeye stares up into Beej’s face, his hand firmly in BJ’s grasp, he just thinks that there is not one other person on the planet that he could share this moment with. His heart stutters as Beej pulls him in closer and gives him a dazzling smile, and Hawk wonders if Beej’s heart is pounding as hard as his own.

They’re waltzing during a rainstorm in the middle of a war, and they’re tired and wet and far from home, but Hawkeye _never_ wants this moment to end.

And Beej is searching his face, and whatever he sees there, the tension goes from his shoulders, and he gives Hawk another smile, a genuine one, and Hawkeye wants nothing more than for Beej to lean down and just _kiss_ him already, consequences be damned (if only it were that easy).

And then a yell comes from the direction of Mulcahy’s tent. “The two of you are going to catch a cold if you stay out there!”

“Good!” Hawkeye calls back.

“What in the name of Mark _blessed_ Twain are you two lunatics doing?” demands another voice, and they break apart, only to find Potter, arms crossed, clearly unamused.

The two of them exchange a guilty smile. “It’s been so long since we had a night on the town, and-,” Hawk starts.

“Watch it, Pierce. It’s too hot for humor, and I’m _dangerously_ close to boiling over.”

Mulcahy appears with an umbrella. “The two of you are going right back to the Swamp this _instant_ , do you understand?”

“Uh Father, the Colonel outranks you. He gives the orders around here.” Beej winks at Hawk as he says it, and Hawk tries not to swoon. Swooning on his own would be bad enough when only Beej is around to see, but in front of their priest and commanding officer, who would both frown upon such behavior? That would quite possibly kill Hawkeye (but oh what a way to go).  

“You heard the Padre,” Potter says, shaking his head. “Nuttier than fruitcakes, the both of you. What if you two get sick and we get casualties tomorrow?” He walks away, still shaking his head, and Mulcahy is frowning at both of them.

“You’re both going to the Swamp and changing out of your wet clothes this _instant_ ,” Mulcahy orders, and he’s really too much like a puppy nipping at their heels to take seriously, but Hawkeye has also seen him throw a punch, and he’s willing to do as the father says, rank notwithstanding.

Beej reaches down as Mulcahy marches them to the Swamp, and squeezes Hawk’s hand. “Save the next dance for me, okay Hawk?” he murmurs.

“Sure, Beej.”

Mulcahy follows them into the Swamp, and stands in front of the door, as if daring them to leave. Charles turns around as the door creaks and then stands immediately. “Father, take them out of here at once! You lunatics are dripping all over the tent!”

“Major, perhaps you should go grab some coffee while these two… lunatics dry off.” Hawk would swear in court that he sees Mulcahy’s mouth twitch at the insult.

“Gladly. If I had wanted to work with children, I would have accompanied you on your trips to the orphanage. Father… Gentlemen.” The door slams after him.

“Remind me to wring out my shirt on his bed,” Hawkeye mutters to Beej, pulling his shirt over his head. It hits the ground with a splat, and Hawk winces at the noise, turning around, only to see Beej avert his eyes. “Father, do we have to-,”

“Everything,” Mulcahy says, arms crossed.

“I can’t do that, Father. I’m very shy,” Hawk tells him.

Beej snorts, and continues undressing, all of his clothing soggy. “Aw damn,” he mutters, looking towards his footlocker. “I don’t have anything clean left.”

“Don’t look at me. The cleanest clothes I’ve got are the ones we wore dancing.”

Beej smiles at him. “Mine too.”

“Here.” Mulcahy throws Margaret’s knitted blanket at them. “Major Houlihan has graciously allowed me to loan you this while you dry off. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go grab some hot coffee for you.” He leaves, the door creaking behind him.

They’re both wearing nothing but dog tags, grinning at each other. “You really were marvellous out there,” Hawk tells him.

Beej sneezes in response, and immediately grabs for the blanket. “My cot or yours?”

“Oh Beej, I never knew,” Hawk says, and winks, trying to hide the fact that the idea of sharing a cot with Beej while wearing nothing but dog tags might make his head explode.

“Idiot,” Beej says affectionately.

Hawkeye pulls on his shorts and tosses a pair to Beej. “These may not fit, but at least they’re dry.”

“I love you Hawk,” Beej says, his voice full of gratitude, and Hawk freezes in place. _I love you, Hawk._ He closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them again, he’s disappointed to find that Beej is wearing them.

“How do you make olive drab look good?” he asks, incredulous.

Beej shrugs. “It’s a gift, I guess.” They situate themselves on Hawkeye’s cot, both curled up underneath the blanket, which is big enough for both of them, and they’re drowning in the blanket, and underneath, Beej’s hand finds Hawkeye’s and squeezes once, twice. “Never took you for the sharing type.”

“I’m not,” Hawkeye replies with a smile. “You’re the exception.” It’s true in more than one way. If he gets to keep Beej, he has to share him, and that is a condition he’ll take. _Show me where to sign,_ he thinks, meeting Beej’s eye. _I’ll do it._

The door creaks, revealing Father Mulcahy, and if he’s surprised that the two of them are practically cuddling beneath the one blanket he’s provided, it doesn’t show on his face. He hands over the cups of coffee. “Here you are, boys. You’ll be warm again in no time.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Hawk mutters, and Beej chokes on his coffee, necessitating a few thumps on the back, leaving the good father sighing at them again.

“Where’s Charles?” Beej asks, once he can breathe again.

“Major Winchester has… ah… volunteered to do inventory. He noticed that it hadn’t been done recently and volunteered.”

“ _Charles_?” Beej asks.

“ _Volunteered_?”

“But Father, he hates inventory. As in, if it was between bedpan duty and inventory, he’d pick the bedpans,” Beej says.

“He seemed to wish to… make himself scarce. Which, I believe, gives you boys ample time to warm yourselves and be presentable by the time he does come back. Will I see you at dinner?” he asks, on his way out the door.

“Sure thing, Father,” Beej tells him.

Mulcahy is halfway out the door, and then turns for one last look at them, shaking his head at them, a mixture of affection and exasperation written all over his face. “You boys are crazy,” he says at last, but it’s said with a smile.

“That’s a lie. And you’d answer for it if I wasn’t too busy being crazy,” Hawk tells him.

Once he’s gone, the silence stretches on, as the storm continues outside. The heat has broken now, and they’re alone, and the silence is comfortable, the silence of two people who know each other too well and don’t need to speak. Instead they lie there, staring at each other, and finally Hawk runs a hand through Beej’s hair, which is still damp, and Beej shivers, and they smile at each other.

“Father Mulcahy worries too much,” Hawk says suddenly.

“Taking care of his wayward flock is all,” Beej replies, closing his eyes as he nuzzles into Hawk’s hand. “Mmmm, that feels nice.”

“Thank you. You’re not half bad yourself.” They’re practically nose to nose, pressed together, and they’ve relaxed into a warm glow of intimacy that Hawkeye could definitely _absolutely_ get used to. “Beej?”

“Yeah Hawk?”

“Save a dance for me back in the States, would you?” _I love you._

“Always,” Beej replies, before yawning. “Don’t fill up your dance card before I get the chance to dance with you again.”

“Not a chance,” Hawk says, and, giving in to a dangerous impulse, leans in further and kisses Beej on the tip of his nose.

Beej’s eyes have lit up again and they _should_ (eventually) talk over whatever this is becoming, but right now is the eye of the hurricane, the calm in the middle of the storm, and Hawkeye can see the yellow skies from where he is, and knows he isn’t safe yet, but here there is peace.

“Hawkeye?” Beej asks, slowly.

“Beej,” he breathes, and all he can smell is rain and the smell of Beej, and the two become intertwined in his brain because Beej is sunshine, but smells like rain, and it’s a beautiful, beautiful, world because of him. Their eyes are locked as Beej leans in, and then their lips touch, and Hawkeye knows that they’ve been waltzing around this moment for months, but now that it’s here, he doesn’t want it to end, even though it’s stupid of them and BJ’s moustache tickles, and it’s perfect and unexpected and yet entirely welcome. He melts into Beej, mouth and hands mapping out every blessed inch of BJ Hunnicutt. BJ, who sighs into his mouth, and cups the back of Hawk’s head in his gentle hands, cradling Hawkeye’s head like a precious artifact, and whimpers when Hawk moves slightly, only to press kisses all over Hawk’s face.

Finally they pull away, slightly breathless, and lean their damp foreheads together, and Hawk wants to make a joke, but he can’t find words that will fit, can’t make light of this, and Beej strokes a finger down his cheek, which makes him glad he’s already lying down. He’s done enough swooning for one day (he has a reputation to protect). “Beej,” he starts, finally, about to make a big speech about how the rain has made idiots out of both of them, and feelings are running high- and then he notices the look Beej is giving him.

A look that says _this has nothing to do with rain and everything to do with us, Hawk._ A look that reminds Hawkeye who kissed who first. “You let me lead,” he says suddenly.

Hawk blinks. “What?”

“You let me lead.” _In dancing. In kissing. Why?_ “Most men I know wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Hawk grins. “Since when am I _most_ men, Beej?”

“You’re right, Hawkeye. No one dances quite like you.” Beej gives him a look, and their hands are tightly clasped beneath the blankets.

“Well you know, Beej, Charles said each man dances to his own tune.”

“Since when do you listen to him?”

“Good point.” Beej is warm against him, and without warning, his disentangles his hands from Hawkeye’s and then wraps his arms around him. Hawk nestles into Beej’s chest, inhaling his rainy, clean scent, and gives in to his urge to pepper Beej’s chest with kisses, before snuggling in even closer. And Beej’s arms are tight around him, strong and solid and for the first time in this war, Hawkeye is ashamed to admit, he almost feels… _safe._ It’s probably because of this that the words slip out. “We dance to the same tune, Beej. You and I.” _I love you, I love you, I love you, and I wish that was enough._

Beej gives him a smile. “It’s beautiful,” he says softly. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Hawkeye’s head. “Let’s meet up after the war and go dancing.”

“I’ll save the last dance for you,” Hawkeye tells him.

_In the army,_ Hawkeye thinks, his eyes sinking shut in his warm cocoon of Beej and blankets, _you dance where they tell you, but they don’t tell you who to dance with. That’s your choice._

_And I’ve made mine._


End file.
